The Once Queen
by LadyHallows
Summary: AU. Anne/Charles. Realising the lengths of which Henry would go to marry his new 'love' Anne requests a divorce upon her own accord, one in order to keep her daughter legitimate and to keep herself alive; however it wasn't upon her own accord to have Henry choose a new husband for her. And even less so for him to choose his loyal lap-dog: Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk.
1. Chapter 1

**The Once Queen**

 **Description:** _AU. Anne/Charles. Realising the lengths of which Henry would go to marry his new 'love' Anne requests a divorce upon her own accord, one in order to keep her daughter legitimate and to keep herself alive; however it wasn't upon her own accord to have Henry choose a new husband for her. And even less so for him to choose his loyal lap-dog: Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk._

 **A/N:** _welcome to my rewrite! :)_

 _I thought my first attempt was far too fast paced and I feel as if I can do a much better job with it, whilst still including the best bits of the initial book!_

 _I hope you enjoy._

 _For the sake of this book (and in accordance with the show) I will be excluding Margaret Neville and Anne Browne, however Princess Mary will be called Mary, and not Margaret._

 **Chapter 1 – The Once Queen**

 _ **April 5**_ _ **th**_ _ **1536, Whitehall Palace**_

Anne Boleyn was many things, and amongst the impressing résumé, there was no space for 'fool'. She knew her influence was dwindling, and that her husband sought to cast her aside for his harlot to take her place. He would kill her, if that's what it took; believing the lies that his lapdogs – such as the Duke of Suffolk – fed him.

The man she had married, the man she had loved, was gone. He was now a monster of her own making (hungry for more and more power since his introduction to _The Obedience of a Christian Man_ via Anne).

As Anne was not a fool, she was unable to blind herself to the reason why Henry was setting her aside. And it hurt all the more to know that it was not just because of his new whore. She had promised Henry a son, and she had not delivered, though it was not for lack of trying. Anger filled her completely when she thought of her youngest boy, whom had been killed because of Henry and his whore, and yet neither accepted the responsibility of it.

Henry had insisted that it was his right, and that she was in the wrong for overreacting so; his harlot had faced her the next morning, eyes unapologetic as she gazed at the woman whose son she had all but murdered.

Sometimes, she would imagine what her sons would have looked like had they lived – she even dreamed of them. Would they have her eyes and Henry's hair, like Elizabeth? Or would they be the mirror image of one of them. She knew what their names would have been – Henry for the eldest, and Edward for the Duke of York – and it hurt to know that, when she awoke, they were not there at all.

Closing her eyes, she sucked in a breath and squared her shoulders. She was a prideful woman, Anne doubted that there was a single woman or man at court who would contest to that, but she loved her daughter more than she loved herself. That was not something that could be said for Henry, who, Anne thought with amusement, might have been better off marrying himself.

Each step down the hallway, each step to her husband's rooms, felt like she was dooming herself, tears clawing their way to her eyes. She had to do this, she resolved herself when she began to falter, for Elizabeth.

"Announce me," she commanded of the herald, proud of herself when her voice did not shake in the slightest. When the herald did not move, she said louder, "now."

He swiftly went inside, and, after a few moments, returned; hesitance was written all over his face. Anne sighed, already knowing what he was about to say.

"The King does not wish to see you, Your Majesty."

Rolling her eyes at Henry's childish behaviour, Anne angrily bashed past the herald's shoulder, opening the doors for herself. Henry didn't even bother to look up when she entered, just simply continuing to read something that was clearly more interesting than his own wife.

"Madam," he greeted coldly, and Anne could not prevent herself from flinching at his tone. Once, he had greeted her so warmly, with endearments such as 'sweetheart' and 'my love', now, she was brought back to a time where in which he said the same to Katherine.

Never had she envisioned that Katherine's promise – that Henry would tire of her, as he did all the others – would come true. But it had. It had.

"I am here to agree to a divorce, should it be what you wish," Anne informed Henry, watching in relief as his eyes flickered up from his reading material in shock and interest, "all I ask is that Elizabeth remains legitimate and lives with me, and I control her household. I will be out of your way, as far as you want, to my estates in Pembroke or elsewhere."

Henry said nothing, as so Anne continued, "I know of what is being whispered in your ear, Henry, and you know that I have not slept with anybody but you. I love you, why would I go to anyone else's bed?" Anne fought the longing to snap _unlike you_ but did not, knowing it would only hurt her chances at getting what she wanted out of this divorce, or even escaping with her head upon her neck at all, "I will not fight you on this, Your Majesty."

The reason Henry wanted Jane was because she was obedient, meek and humble which the outspoken, opinionative and vain Anne never could be, but she could act the part. Just until she had gotten what she wanted. Acting had always been a forte of hers, along with commanding the attention of the Court; revelling in being in the centre of their visions, heart of the drama and scandals.

He looked taken aback at her, and her tone, and seemed to take several moments to think upon it. Anne baited her breath, knowing that if Henry waited to consult Cromwell then her chances would be greatly hurt, for her enemy dearly wanted her dead.

"Sit down, Anne," he said, and Anne complied.

 **TOQ-TOQ-TOQ-TOQ**

Later that night, Anne was leaving the King's chambers with a look of shock upon her face, as if she had not fully registered what she had done. And what she had got out of it.

The night, luckily, concealed her identity somewhat – she had no longing to see the faces of gloating Seymours with the knowledge that she had all but begged the King for her life, relinquishing her title to their whore.

Anne snorted when she thought of the meek thing, she would never keep the King's love for the year. Let alone the decade.

Anne had gained much out of this divorce, no doubt due to Henry's joy over her step down, opposed to how Katherine had acted. She was to be the Duchess of Pembroke, still retaining the title of 'Your Majesty' as she was an anointed Queen along with possessing the right to wear purple. Elizabeth would retain the title of Princess of England, and would be before Jane's daughters in the matter of succession.

However, Anne had a great disadvantage, one that almost outweighed it, had the advantages for her beloved daughter not been so prominent: she had to marry the Duke of Suffolk.

She supposed that the Duke in question was not all too happy about the matter either. Rumour has it, he had been planning to wed his seventeen year old ward – Katherine Willoughby, a great heiress – but now that would not be possible.

Though, Katherine was only a Baroness where Anne was a Duchess.

The most pressing of all things was that Charles Brandon had tried to have Anne killed by whispering treacherous lies within the King's ear. He strived to have Anne a head shorter, and Anne would not forgive, or tolerate, him for that. He would have left her daughter an orphan, would have caused Elizabeth unimaginable pain and would have had Elizabeth brought up to hate Anne.

Sucking in a breath, Anne grabbed the vase off of her side and threw it angrily at the wall. She was to enter a loveless marriage to a man who was the King's dog; who hated her above any other.

Besides herself, she couldn't help but begin to laugh; madly.

For her daughter, Anne would do absolutely anything. However, she couldn't help but know that everything would have been easier if she had just been sent to the chopping block, or even burnt at His Majesty's pleasure.

Instead, her torture would go on for years. Forced to watch as the whore gave her husband the children that had never been granted to her; forced to live a life with a man whom she despised, just because Henry wished to watch her suffer; forced to live within the hate of her family. Oh, how her father and uncle would despise her. They had wanted her to keep the crown at all costs.

They wouldn't care that she would have died, only that she died clinging to power no doubt. Anne hoped that George would understand. They may have grown apart in the recent years, her finding herself unable to trust him after he had relayed everything about her private life to her father and uncle, but he was still her brother.

"Are you alright, my Queen?" Nan inquired, looking worriedly between her King and the expensive smashed vase against the wall. Everyone knew that Queen Anne had an explosive temper, but Nan was more concerned as to what had caused such an outbreak.

"You will not be calling me Queen for much longer," Anne informed her, her voice weak as she stared straight ahead, the tears that she had tried so hard to prevent now working their way freely from her eyes, "the whore shall be Queen, and I… I shall be the Duchess of Suffolk."

Nan did not react for several moments, not even to catch Anne as she fell to the floor in a heap of sobs, truly hopeless. But when she did, it was to utter soothing words to the woman that she would always think of as Queen, rubbing her back and feeling upset and angry upon Anne's behalf.

While it was questionable as to whether or not Anne was truly a good person – even Anne agreed that she was by no means a good person, guiltfully but not regretfully remembering all that had transpired with Katherine of Aragon and Mary – she had loved the King more than life itself, only her love for Elizabeth able to rival it, and she had always been loyal and generous, kind to those who served her.

"It will all be alright," Nan soothingly told her mistress, even though she could not truly be sure of that. Anne nodded to her Lady-In-Waiting's words, even though she acknowledged the lack of truth and surety in them.

 _ **8**_ _ **th**_ _ **April 1536, Whitehall Palace**_

It was humiliating, Anne thought, and very childish of Henry. The said man was already organising a feast in the honour of his new betrothal, and Anne was expected to attend.

The Court already knew of the divorce, of her upcoming marriage to Charles Brandon (only five days from now, upon the thirteenth, and Anne wondered if that was some superstitious way of Henry attempting to bring them bad luck, as if they didn't hate each other enough already) and of Henry's pledge to marry Lady Jane Seymour.

Perhaps the only good thing that came out of all of this, Anne mused, was that Elizabeth was being brought to Court for the feast and the upcoming marriages – and that, from afterwards, Anne would not have to be parted from her daughter.

She would take her to Pembroke with her, Anne decided, live a separate life to the scorned Suffolk and away from Court, at least for a little while. Though, deep inside, Anne knew that things would never be that easy for her.

Dressing in a scarlet gown – that covered up enough to not be scandalous, but uncovered enough to be contraversal, and the centre of attention (something Anne loved) – with the Queen's jewellery.

Henry had not come to claim it from her yet, so she would make the most out of it while she still retained it. Great sapphire necklace and stunning earrings adorned her, showing her former status to all at court.

And even if she would not be announced as Queen, she would still be announced as the Duchess of Pembroke.

"Mama," she heard a voice call out from the door, and it was as if Anne's entire world had lit up. She turned to see her daughter, little Elizabeth, already wearing the dress that Anne had picked out for her with a large smile up her face.

Anne kissed the cheek of her toddler daughter who was wearing an emerald gown with a Tudor rose sewn upon it, reminding all that she was the Heiress Presumptive and a Tudor, "my own heart, how have you been?"

"Good, mama," the little girl informed her, and Anne smiled genuinely for the first time in a long time. She found herself glad that Elizabeth was too young to truly understand why her mother had been demoted from Queen to Duchess, not knowing how she would begin to explain the change to her darling girl should she have asked.

Elizabeth was, however, and intelligent girl, and would soon catch on that her mother was no longer a Queen, and that another woman would be swift to take her place.

"You look beautiful," Anne gushed, looking at her daughter with pride, who was promising to be a beauty like Elizabeth of York, Elizabeth Woodville and Elizabeth Howard before her.

Elizabeth grinned with pride at her mama's compliment, before inquiring of her, "will papa be at the feast?"

Anne's smile faded slightly, and though she swiftly replaced it, the intelligent little girl caught on remarkably easy, frowning for her mother and what could have possibly made her mama sad, "he will, my sweetheart. Shall we head to the feast now?" 

Elizabeth nodded, biting her lip. She knew that her mama would not tell her why she was sad. The young Princess did not know why but adults did not seem to like to talk about their feelings, which confused Elizabeth, who liked to express how she was feeling passionately – be it anger or joy or any other emotion.

Taking her mother's hand, the duo began to make their way towards the entrance doors, to where Anne smiled down at Elizabeth, as the herald announced, "Her Majesty, the Duchess of Pembroke and Her Highness, the Princess Elizabeth."

Everything went silent, even the musicians ceasing to play, when Anne entered with Elizabeth holding her hand. It seemed as if every eye in the court was upon them, and Anne squeezed little Elizabeth's hand in reassurance when she sensed the Princess' confusion – though not discomfort, Anne noted.

She was like her mother, revelling in the attention that she was given by her admirers. And there were few who could not adore the charming, intelligent toddler. Not even Anne's enemies could truly fault the girl, who was as much her father's daughter as she was her mother's.

After a pregnant silence, the King nodded to the musicians to continue playing, Henry's eyes remaining upon his former wife and child. Anne, however, refused to linger her eyes upon the man she loved, moving to walk over to where her brother stood.

"Uncle George!" Elizabeth could be heard yelling out as she rushed into the awaiting arms of Anne's older brother. Her governess' might have scolded her for such a display, but her mama never did so Elizabeth went ahead.

Her Uncle hoisted her up into his arms, smiling at her and tickling her. Her mama laughed at Elizabeth's giggles, and Elizabeth's smile grew knowing that her mama was less sad than she had been before.

"Would you like to dance, Your Majesty?" Was an inquiry directed at Anne. Both amusement and surprise flashed upon Anne's face when she turned to look at the brave soul who had decided to approach the King's discarded wife. She almost laughed when she saw that it was one of her Uncle – the 3rd Duke of Norfolk's – men.

No doubt he wished for her to make the King jealous, hope that he might realise his mistake and go back to her.

Henry never realised his mistakes, or at least never admitted to them, Anne knew, but she would accept the offer of the man anyway; if only to escape the humiliation of nobody asking her to dance. Not even her betrothed, not that she would want to dance with the pretty lapdog Duke of Suffolk.

"Of course, Sir," she told him, taking his hand and allowing him to lead her to the dance floor. The man clearly looked slightly nervous, causing Anne to smirk amusedly at him, which caused him to blush and look away.

The interaction made Anne more confident, knowing that, despite the King putting her aside, she still had the same charm, charisma and effect on men that she had always had – especially if the way that her once betrothed, the Earl of Northumberland, was looking at her had anything to go by.

The man twirled her, and Anne laughed with him as he tripped slightly, attempting to forget that she was a scorned Queen, with the court watching her, at this present moment. As she twirled for a second time, she caught the eyes of the admittedly handsome Duke of Suffolk watching her intensely as she span.

Loathing. That was what was in his gaze. And Anne matched it with a look of amusement, which only seemed to enrage him more.

Inside, however, she seethed. The nerve of that man to look at her as if she had done something wrong! While he had been the one to try to result in her head on a chopping block! She was well aware that his dead wife had never liked her, nor was he fond of her family for their scheming, but they had brought him back to court. He, in fact, had played a massive part in her rise to power, and now, here he was, dismayed because of her retaining said power.

The dance ended, and Anne partook in another two with her current partner, making sure to catch the eye of the Duke of Suffolk with each laugh she let out.

She was alive, she longed to flaunt to him, he had not killed her off as he had longed to.

As the third dance ended, Anne headed back over to where her brother and daughter was. George handed Elizabeth over to her, and Anne bid the little girl a joyful greeting, accepting her daughter's offer to dance with her, and allowing her to lead her to the dance floor despite her tiredness.

As the music began, she caught Suffolk's eyes for a last time, eyes communicating her mocking statement perfectly: _you will never best me, husband_.

 **A/N** _hope you are enjoying the rewrite so far and that you think it is better than the original version! It took me a while to write this, but I was determined to get it up today. Next chappie coming soon :) (I will most likely alternate between the King's Consorts and this book)_


	2. Chapter 2

**The Once Queen**

 **Chapter 2: All the King's Puppets**

 _ **April 10**_ _ **th**_ _ **1536**_

Though not having been present, due to extreme nausea, Anne Boleyn had known the moment that her now ex-husband had announced that their marriage was to be annulled – though announced one of good faith, allowing Princess Elizabeth to remain legitimate – and that he would wed his Seymour obsession in a week. Not only that, he announced Anne's betrothal to Brandon, which would occur in a meagre months' time.

She knew all of this, thanks to her father's thunderous entrance to her rooms. He slammed open the door, allowing it to rather brutally hit Lady Dorothy Seymour (not that Anne particularly cared for that, in fact it initially made her lips twitch), before latching onto the once Queen and shaking her. Hard.

"You idiot, girl!" The dark-haired man bellowed, looking at her daughter as if she were some foolish court jester rather than his former Queen and the mother to the King's Heiress, "you allowed that little wench your crown! You allowed her family our positions! You lost us everything!"

After the shock had faded, Anne ripped his hands from where they had resided, latched onto her shoulders, and hit them away. She shoved her father backwards, the rageful man almost tripping over one of Princess Elizabeth's dolls that she had accidentally left there. Sending the majority of her frightened ladies away, she rounded to glower at him, "believe it or not, father, I value my head and my daughter's position over your and the family's greed for position and more titles. I am not your puppet; I was a Queen and now, as a Duchess, I am still above your station and so you will treat me with respect."

"Respect?" Her father, the Earl of Wiltshire, sneered, "the Court calls you the King's whore, and now they will know you as Suffolk's whore. What respect have you ever earnt, child, that wasn't through your legs?"

She balled her fist at her side, resigning herself to not slap the man whom had once been her beloved papa, and she had been his favourite, most precious, most promising child, "I was what you made me, and now I am what I made myself. _You_ taught Mary and I to earn positions through 'our legs'; _you_ earnt us the monikers the 'English Mare' and the 'King's concubine'; _you_ did it all for titles and land and greed **.** _I_ , through _my_ carefully placed words and influence over the King, started the chain of events that brought to the English reformation; _I_ refused to settle for being a mistress, as you and Norfolk wanted me to be, and strived to become a Queen; _my_ words and the King's love for _me_ as a person gave you your Earldom and George's titles so don't you dare say I did it by being a whore."

Her father opened his mouth again, beginning to go red in the face, before, with no more words to degrade her with, settled on hitting her instead. A resounding crack echoed through the room as his fist made contact with her face, shrilly, one of her remaining Ladies – Margaret Horseman – called for the guards and they took the red-faced man away.

Anne, who had been thrown to the floor by the force, refused anyone's help at getting up and did so on her own, brushing off her dark purple dress.

"I should get the physician, Your Majesty, you might have hit your head or-,"

"I'll be alright, Madge," Anne said to another one of her ladies, far more softly than how she had responded to Thomas Boleyn, "but I would rather like to get dressed into a far simpler gown than this – one that will not mind getting dirty."

"Your Majesty?" Nan Seville inquired incredulously. Queen Anne was well known as a fashionable and vain woman, who strived to outshine any other courtier – to always be the centre of attention. This was an unusual request.

"Do as I ask," Anne commanded, and Madge soon scuttled off, "I shall go to distribute coin and the clothing we have made over the past few months to the common folk myself. Perhaps, now I am no longer Queen, they shall not need to see me as a witch and Katherine's usurper."

In truth, that was not her only motivation. If she was to lose her crown to Henry's Seymour bitch, then the least that she could do was ensure that the woman got no more love from the common folk than Anne had, and if the common folk preferred Anne to Mistress Seymour then that was all the better.

"Your Majesty," Nan began most tentatively, eyeing Anne as if she feared that she would react like a wild animal and lash out, "I feel I must broach the subject of your monthlies, they-,"

Anne laughed at Nan's words, it was harsh and near hysterical, "my former husband and I had only shared a bed once after I lost my precious boy in January, a rageful and possessive response Henry had to the rumour of my cheating no doubt. There is little chance that a missed monthly or two will mean much, dear Nan."

Or, at least, Anne hoped it wouldn't. To have Henry's child now, it would not be a Prince nor a Princess but instead labelled a bastard – even if it's parents had been married at it's conception, as Henry would never renounce his decision and claim it. In fact, he would probably announce to all of Court that it was proof of all the lovers she must have had and therefore that he was justified in losing her.

Nay, Anne thought hysterically, the hypothetical child would be a bastard forever dependant upon the kindness of it's stepfather. And the King's lapdog would not be kind.

 _I hope you're not real, sweetheart, or else we've got a lot of struggle ahead of us._

Just on time, Madge ran in with some basic, almost common, looking clothing for the Queen. Her trusted Ladies assisted in changing her into it – and then the disgraced Queen set out to change the public's opinion of her.

 **TOQ-TOQ-TOQ-TOQ**

 _ **April 16**_ _ **th**_ _ **1536**_

 _ **Palace of Whitehall**_

The night before the wedding of Henry Tudor, King of England and the Lady Jane Seymour was filled with anticipation for the next day, as well as a feast for the next day. Tomorrow, there would be yet another feast in which a masquerade would play and a joust.

Anne had enjoyed when, five days previously, the future Queen had had to journey to Anne's chambers and curtsey shallowly to her, as Anne was a Duchess and therefore still above her for now, in order to request that she be a part of Jane's little spectacle. Predictably, it was about fair maidens being saved from a dragon by dashing knights; it suited Jane, Anne had thought to herself viciously, helpless and subordinate.

In truth, the fallen Queen was aware that Jane's situation was much similar to what hers had been. A young girl – Anne had been but sixteen when she had first met the King in 1523 – thrown at a King in hopes of royal favour. But perhaps it would have been easier to swallow if Anne had lost her position to somebody worthier of stealing it; somebody who could write their own name for starters.

The Duchess of Pembroke, elevated officially a meagre few days ago, sat below the King, his betrothed, his betrothed's family and her darling Princess Elizabeth – which the little Princess had thrown a temper tantrum about - but upon the same table as the Duke of Norfolk, Duke of Suffolk and Duke of Richmond and Somerset.

Norfolk was to her left, Suffolk to her right, and Hal FitzRoy to Suffolk's right with his wife and Anne's cousin, Mary Howard, to his own right. Her uncle's wife, Elizabeth Stafford, was to her Uncle's left and neither spoke; it was well known that they loathed each other, and that Elizabeth hated Anne herself as well. She had been a great supporter of Katherine of Aragon and the Lady Mary's cause.

Their table sat in silence for the majority of the night, apart from the occasional conversations between Hal and Mary occasionally joined in by the Duke of Suffolk.

The sixteenth course had come and gone, Suffolk and Anne herself being the main drinkers of all the wine the soon to be royal couple had to offer, before Suffolk suddenly and rather rudely spat out, "what happened to your face?"

The evident bruise, purple and green in colouring, upon the Duchess of Pembroke's face was a rife cause of controversy at the moment. Some thought Henry had hit her; some thought Jane had, the very thought of the mouse hitting her made Anne giggle slightly; some believed it was Suffolk himself, so rageful he had to marry her; some even got it right, blaming Thomas Boleyn for it and a few even pointed fingers at the Duke of Norfolk.

Anne, tongue loosened by wine, omitted bitterly, "my father thought my face needed a little bit of colour to it – now I haven't got the Queen's jewels to decorate with."

Despite her round about way of omitting it, the Duke of Suffolk grasped the meaning swiftly, and looked at Thomas Boleyn – sat a table further down from them with the other Earls – with distain. He loathed Anne Boleyn, but he hated Wiltshire and Norfolk, "mayhaps he could do with a bit of colour as well."

Anne hummed in idle agreement, still sipping at her goblet, "I believe black would suit him."

They didn't talk to each other after that, and instead Anne watched the dancing ongoing. Jane and Henry took to the floor, of course, and the little chit could barely take two steps without treading upon the King's feet – which he seemed to find amusing and endearing for some reason Anne could not phantom. Her cousin and Hal FitzRoy joined them too, both smiling at each other as the King's young bastard twirled her.

The once Queen barked out a quick laugh when she saw her brother and his wife, Jane Parker, dancing but glowering at each other all the same. Clearly her father had forced them up there, and both looked as if they would rather be dancing with the Devil than each other.

Suddenly, hot breath hit the back of Anne's neck as a large, rough hand found it's way onto her lower thigh, she turned slightly, to come face to face with the twinkling light eyes of a ruffled and drunken Duke of Suffolk, "don't you want to dance, Lady Pembroke?" he whispered.

The latter part of his inquiry caused her to frown at him.

"Perhaps," she told him, voice hostile, "if I did not think that you would step on me and make a fool of yourself and me in your current state."

She turned away, only to catch eyes with Henry who was eyeing her and Suffolk's current position with suspicion and malice.

"You are a disgraced Queen, the first in all of English history to be spurned in such a manner," he told her, still in her ear, like some kind of conscience telling her all of the hard truths of life, "I don't believe you can be any more made a fool of."

Anne was barely listening, however, still focused upon her staring contest with Henry – who soon looked away when his little mouse squeaked for his attention. Harshly, she yanked the Duke out of his seat and all but shoved him onto the dance floor. He laughed, clearly amused by her, but – no doubt only doing so as he was intoxicated – danced with her none the less. Jane Seymour called for La Volta.

She was only going to make a fool of herself with such a dance, but clearly the girl was trying to keep Henry's attention on her rather than where it was straying to the Duke and Anne. Anne simply readied her stance, as did Brandon, and began to allow the passionate music of the dance to possess her movements, expertly swaying her dress around as she moved opposite the talented Duke. He grinned at her, as a falcon smiles at a mouse, and she sent him back the same smile – she was nobody's prey.

Her eyes stayed with his the entire time, feeling victorious when she saw the darkening of lust within them as she yanked up her dress scandalously further than necessary, exposing a bear thigh, and laughing as she moved in closer and he gripped her waist tighter and closer than necessary – as if he was trying to pull her into him.

Not a week ago, her eyes had told him _you shall never best me_ , and they showed him much the same today. No matter what would ever happen to her, she would never be meek or subordinate or quiet, nay, he will never break her because she was not glass – she was iron.

Perhaps he liked that, she wondered idly when she saw that the lust in his eyes was still there despite the message being conveyed, the emotion deepening as she casually but purposefully rubbed against him – dark blue eyes boring into her own coal ones – the idea that she would not shatter beneath any one's touch.

Suffolk lifted her with strength, twirling her around, and by the time the music had stopped she was still in the air, held just above him. He left her like that for several moments, suspended in the air with their faces mere centimetres apart.

Eventually, he let her down, and they parted ways. Anne journeyed to greet her daughter, who was beside her Uncle George and scowling Aunt Jane, talking animatedly in French, whereas the Duke went back to his seat to speak sparingly to Hal.

Anne glanced over to find him looking straight at her.

She disliked him greatly, but maybe life as the Duchess of Pembroke and Suffolk was not the worst cards that Henry could have played.

Hit with a sudden sense of overwhelming nausea, however, she was hit with the fleeting thought that maybe the universe had just dealt her the Joker.

Or maybe they had dealt her a King.

 **TOQ-TOQ-TOQ-TOQ**

 **NOTES:** _sorry for the long interval between updates, but I went through writer's block and could literally write_ _ **nothing**_ _. You can thank VioletLilyRose's stories (a writer on AO3) for making me_ _ **need**_ _to get back into writing again. This is a shorter chapter than my usual ones but it felt right to leave it here – next chapter will be the marriage of Henry and Jane and, maybe, a discovery._

 _Do you think, or want, Anne to be pregnant or is it just a bout of pretty extreme food poisoning (after all, I bet uncooked chicken was more common in those days!)? Anyways, I hope you liked this chapter and know that your reviews are also what motivates me to try to get updates out._

 _Also, some people have requested that I repost the old version so you can reread it if you want, is this something you guys still want? It might take a couple of days – as it's somewhere on my old laptop – but I'll find it for you all if you still want it up._

 _Thanks,_

 _Ria._


	3. Chapter 3

**The Once Queen**

 **Chapter 3: Bloodless Linen; Broken Vows**

 _ **April 17**_ _ **th**_ _ **1536**_

 _ **Westminster Abbey, London**_

Once again, Anne was seated beside those of her peerage as they watched the marriage of Henry VIII of England and the Lady Jane Seymour occur. Cruelly, and expectedly, Henry had made it so she was on an aisle seat, allowing the bride and her sisters to carelessly brush their dresses past Anne as if she were nothing but a child at their skirts.

Nobody offered her any comfort during the service. Her father saw her as a disgrace, and both he and her brother were seated further back regardless; her uncle cared not for emotion, viewing them as something to be felt below but not seen above the surface; Charles Brandon disliked her; Hal FitzRoy would have acted indifferent out of loyalty to his father and his wife would follow his suit.

Silently, she allowed a single tear to drip down her face as they kissed – before promising herself that there would be no more. Particularly not for all the Court to see. Victoriously, Henry swept past her with his new bride, giving her a smug look.

 _I will have my son now_ , his eyes promised with glee, _I will have the son you promised but never gave me._

Her heart sank at such a look. Her boys who had died – her Hal and little Ned, as she had known their names would have been – would have been two and a couple of months had they of lived past the womb. But they would never be here, and for that she blamed herself, Henry and his whore. Herself most of all.

After the King and Queen left, those with Dukedoms followed, then the Earls and so on. Determinedly, she held her head high as she left; instead of following the rest of the Ladies to the Queen's rooms to where they would get ready for the masquerade she would be readying herself in her own rooms, in the company of her dear daughter who had been deemed too lively to be able to sit through a marriage ceremony without complaint.

As soon as Anne got to her rooms, her daughter rushed to her and she embraced her, sending Lady Margaret Bryan away with a flick of her hand.

"Miss'd you, mama," her darling told her, and Anne smiled as she lifted the child up to rest on her hip.

"As I miss you, sweetheart, every moment that I am not with you," the once Queen told her daughter truthfully, "I must dress for the masquerade now, would you like to pick out my jewellery?"

The little Princess nodded eagerly, red-gold curls bobbing as she did so, before she wrinkled her small nose in distain as she looked at the dress in the far corner of the room, "not wear'ng tha' dwess, mama?"

In the corner of the room, where the Princess' dark eyes were fixated, hung a rather disdainful dress. It was coloured in a pastel pink, with a high white necked colour, a white lace bow around the middle and frills on the second layer of the skirt. Though Anne could not say it was the worst dress she had ever seen, it certainly wasn't one that she would ever optionally wear, especially as the colour just simply didn't suit her.

Anne Boleyn sent her daughter a mischievous smile and tickled her slightly, causing the child to lean back and giggle, "of course not, mama made herself a new dress."

Out of curiosity after seeing her dismal dress, she had gazed upon some of the other ladies dresses – all colours were lights; light blues and yellows and oranges and greens and pinks. The new Queen's dress was that of a baby blue itself – rather similar to Henry's eyes, Anne noted with dark amusement. Every woman had a different colour, except for Anne and Lady Frances Howard nee de Vere (the only of Anne's Ladies to have received an invite) who had the same pink, and yet the Queen hadn't assigned anybody white.

As a result, Anne had spent the better part of a week sewing herself a white gown with golden accents – not at all dissimilar from the one she wore as Lady Perseverance. Keeping Jane's white ruffled collar only made it look more similar; the differences being a v-neck instead of a square neck, a ruffle on the second layer of the skirt as the original dress had depicted (Anne did not want to make it obvious to all that she had redesigned the dress herself) and the slight traces of flower patterns upon it.

When Anne showed it to Elizabeth, her toddler daughter clapped excitedly and – in her own off way of speaking due to her age – requested Anne make her a miniature version, to which she readily agreed.

The only part of the original outfit that Anne kept was the tiara she was given to wear, as Jane wanted them all – bar Jane herself who would be playing a queen – to be 'princesses' for the 'knights' to save. Anne could not fault the tiara, that was made of a lovely pale gold and had a light pink – originally to go with her dress – gem in the centre.

She placed it atop her head after her Ladies in Waiting assisted her into her dress and requested that her hair be made curly and left down. Leaving your hair down was an action typically done of unmarried virgins, but Anne supposed her role as Jane's perfect princess in this production would suit her former favourite hairstyle.

Princess Elizabeth took her hand, and the mother, daughter and the Ladies made their way to the hall. Elizabeth was to enter with her Governess, whom had recently caught up with them, and all of Anne's Ladies bar Lady Frances Howard. Frances and Anne were to head to the other, more secretive entrance to the hall to be given their masks.

Frances, now dressed in a lovely light teal colour after she herself requested Anne assist her in changing her own dress, walked beside the disgraced Queen as they headed around the side after Anne had lain a goodbye kiss upon he top of little Elizabeth's head.

As soon as the duo had turned the corner, Queen Jane's eyes had widened and her sisters had looked at them in anger and irritation. Perhaps it was rude of her to have changed their dresses, but it was rude of Jane to seduce her husband so she didn't particularly care.

Being the meek woman she was, Jane did not reprimand them, instead waving a hand for Lady Elizabeth Seymour to give them their masks. Like their dresses and tiaras had been, their masks were much the same but they did not look identical due to Anne's changing of their dresses. No doubt it was the mouse Queen's idea of trying to make sure that Anne was not noticed, not yet understanding that dress was not her only way of drawing people to her.

Anne was fire; the Court were moths.

Unsurprisingly, Anne was put at the end of the line of women to enter, but entered the hall none the less to the cheers of the Courtiers. Each 'Princess' took their place on the left side of the hall, behind the many men dressed in blacks, greens, oranges and reds whom were pretending to be the dragon. Truthfully, their method of creating a dragon was remarkable and creative, by the way they moved and swayed and making it look as if it was truly breathing fire – not that Anne would ever admit that.

Hearing a young child's squeal of excitement, Anne tilted her head up to smile sweetly at her darling daughter whom was sitting beside Lady Bryan. As she withdrew her eyes, she noted that both thrones were empty, showing that the King would be amongst the Knights, which disappointed but didn't surprise Anne.

"Beware the dragon!" Proclaimed the narrator dramatically from where he stood beside the royal booth, "It holds these fair Princesses prisoner, whom are helpless to defend themselves against it's fire, they must be saved! From far and wide, noble Knights have fought against fearsome foes and through extreme climates so that they may win the hand of one of these lovely maidens."

On cue, the knights rushed in, swords held high above their heads in silver chainmail with their helmets down, concealing their identity. They bent their legs and readied their stances, all pointing their swords in unison to face the 'dragon'.

"Only together may they defeat the dragon; together they can liberate the Princesses. Charge, my Knights, and free the Damsels."

The knights all charged towards the 'dragon', striking their swords forward so that it feigned dying before they swiftly moved on towards where the women awaited. One by one, they were led towards the dance floor by a knight.

Anne scanned hers. He was slight, slighter than either Henry or Charles, and she could just make out the light green eyes he supported beneath the visor. He was Frances' husband, she guessed, and her cousin: Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey. Surrey, if she was correct about who she was that is, was as efficient a dance partner as all the Boleyns and Howards were, twirled her and dipped her as he had no doubt practiced. At that point, is was choreographed to push the partner away from each other with a turn, and then move onto the next partner.

"Anne," a man with broader shoulders and of a taller height greeted. The visor allowed her to see dark blue eyes and, the deep tone being recognisable, it was soon obvious it had to be the Duke of Suffolk.

"Charles," she said mockingly in response to him using her Christian name, "I do wonder what gave me away, after all, I am not the only woman of darker hair here tonight."

A mousy brown colouring was the most common hair colour, blonde taking a second place with red no too far after it. Dark brown hair, or black hair, was uncommon in England, and yet it was something she shared with Bess Holland, whom was now one of Jane's Ladies.

"You smiled at your daughter," was all the Duke said, blue mingling with black as if their eyes held their own kind of conversation as they danced.

"You are observant," Anne noted, before smiling a little cruelly, "for a being the King's dog."

The hand he had held upon her waist stiffened and clutched tighter, almost painfully tight, but Anne merely smirked at his reaction. She wanted to provoke him; she wanted to feed her own fire with more fire; she wanted him to burn with her.

"I am nobody's dog," Suffolk near growled out, spinning her swiftly before yanking her back in with a force he did not originally use.

She arched a brow, before leaning into whisper, "in about twenty seconds, as choreographed, you will spin me into the arms of the King whom will be waiting to dance with me; to gloat, to be cruel, to desire me, whatever Henry feels like in that moment. That's what you do, Your Grace, you dance to the steps choreographed for you, and give everything you have to the King. Like a dog when they give their owner a bone just so they can throw it for them again – the dog obediently runs and gets it but the owner always takes it off them in the end. And let's not mention how you tried to make me a head shorter so that you could give your master a new toy to play with."

Brandon went completely still for a moment, so Anne was the only one doing the pushing away when they time came – which was not a second after she spoke her last words.

Now, she was dancing with the King and Brandon had received Jane Seymour as a partner – ironic, she supposed, how Jane Seymour had replaced her with Brandon just as she had done with Henry. But with neither would she make more of an impact than Anne had.

Suffolk kept his eyes upon her as Henry filled her ears with cruel words and her eyes with smug grins – "Jane will give me the son we should have had," he had told her, "and I will forget you, madam," – and as she was pushed from dance partner to dance partner, throwing her head back and laughing or smiling coyly at the partner given to her.

With anticipation, and perhaps even an inkling of fear, she wondered how the King, Queen and Suffolk would react to her news that was beginning to become hard to hid: she was pregnant with the King's child, having just missed her third monthly courses.

By the 19th May, when herself and Suffolk were scheduled to marry, it would be evident to all of the Court.

 **TOQ-TOQ-TOQ-TOQ**

 _ **April 18**_ _ **th**_ _ **1536**_

 _ **Whitehall Palace, London**_

The King having decided that all were too full on the feast and dancing from the day previous, the joust was instead to take place today. _H &J_s were decorating the entire jousting arena on colourful banners, the sky blue and clear with a sun shining so bright it was as if the heavens were congratulating the royal couple on their happy day. Or, Anne thought bitterly, perhaps the sun was so bright as an attempt to help them see clearer – mainly Henry who had married an uneducated chit.

Anne sat with the Princess Elizabeth to the side of the royal box, in which King Henry and his new wife sat, the Queen speaking quietly to Henry, whom gave short replies but with adoring eyes. No doubt he was upset over not being able to joust in this tournament, but the Court Physician had recommended it after his jousting accident of 1535, and Jane had probably persuaded him to stay by her side.

The King gave call for the Jousting to begin, and the contenders began to file in. Knivert against some Howard cousin of hers; Sir Thomas Seymour, the Queen's brother, triumphed against another Howard giving call for Anne to scowl; Henry Percy, who looked as though he wanted to ask for Anne's favour but a withering look from his brother had him trotting towards his wife, fought one of the Courtenays.

Eventually, the round came in which the Duke of Suffolk rode out. Cheers accompanied the popular Duke, many wanting to cling to his side due to his status as best friend of the King. The Duke, helmet off, grinned at the onlookers and waved before sending his grand horse trotting over towards where Anne sat. Anne raised a brow in surprise, having expected the Duke to attempt to embarrass her by calling for the favour of another, and smirked when she felt Henry's eyes upon them.

Suffolk stopped before her area, staring down at her from atop his horse heatedly, before turning his gaze slightly to where the Princess Elizabeth sat, "Your Highness, will you do me the honour of allowing me to wear your favour?"

Elizabeth nodded excitedly, all but jumping out of her chair in her haste, before frowning when she realised that she didn't have a favour to give. Anne, whom had neglected to carry a favour either and hated to see her daughter disappointed, reached to the hem of her dress and tore a part of the bottom off. Murmurs filled the stands at what they depicted as a scandalous action.

Anne passed the golden silk material onto Elizabeth, who, lifted by Anne, clumsily tied her ribbon around the Duke of Suffolk's lance.

"Extwa lucky," the little Princess told the Duke in a serious tone, "becawse it's mama's dwess."

The Duke grinned at the small girl, "I'll take extra good care of it then, Princess."

Elizabeth nodded solemnly to his words and the Duke rode off to meet Henry Seymour in the jousting field, the two had two charges before Brandon successfully knocked the Seymour man off of his horse and face-verse onto the grass. Anne allowed herself a small smile at his victory, especially over a Seymour.

Idly, Anne wondered when she started thinking of Charles Brandon, 1st Duke of Suffolk, as a lesser enemy than the Seymours. Not that she likes him. It doesn't take a few heated glances to forget one's desire to have her a head shorter. And her daughter motherless.

When Suffolk won the day, she clapped slowly but did not meet his eyes. She couldn't forget; she couldn't. Suffolk would always be the King's dog, and she would never be able to trust him no matter how many favours he requested of her daughter.

 **TOQ-TOQ-TOQ-TOQ**

 _ **May 18**_ _ **th**_ _ **1536**_

 _ **Whitehall Palace, London**_

For the past week and a half, ever since Anne's pregnancy bump had become too large to hide at four months along, the Court had been rife with gossip. They all knew the Duchess of Pembroke was pregnant – some suspected her alleged lovers: Thomas Wyatt or Mark Smeaton perhaps; some even suspected that the Duke of Suffolk was the father, and that was the reason for their marriage.

Most, however, accepted the obvious truth. Anne Boleyn was pregnant with a child conceived during her marriage to the King – in the month of February, not long after her last miscarriage. Neither the King nor Queen or even Charles Brandon had spoke out about the rumours yet, instead Anne received murderous glowers from members of the Seymour family and thoughtful gazes from the other Courtiers.

Perhaps, if Katherine of Aragon had died that fateful winter of 1536, then Jane Seymour would be more well-liked by the Court. But Katherine hadn't died, and so Jane Seymour was seen as just as bad – if not worse – than Anne Boleyn. Now that they saw that Anne was pregnant, with a child that could be argued to be legitimate due to time of conception, they saw her faction as gaining more power.

Jane's disfavour, almost equal to Anne's in the nobility, was lesser than the Boleyn woman's in regards to the public. As they had Katherine, the people pitied Anne for being tossed aside for another woman, and her recent acts of more and more charity only further increased the good-will towards her. Of course, Katherine was more well liked than either of them – but Anne was now a close second whereas Jane was scorned as both Katherine and Anne's replacement, the woman who ruined the lives of two Queens, the latter of whom they seemed to of forgot they had hated.

And now the rumours were making it to the common folk that Anne was pregnant, Jane was even _further_ in disfavour as not only had she seduced the King away from his Queen, but also his _pregnant_ Queen. Jane, Henry and Anne may not have known she was pregnant back then, but the common people didn't seem to care, instead backing her utterly.

If not for her whim to travel to the gardens that day, the weather warming as spring began to bleed into summer, then she might not have found out any of the important reactions to her latest development. As it happened, a certain Duke had been drinking away in some secluded corner in the gardens that Anne had ordered the structuring of herself.

Upon catching sight of him, she had swiftly moved towards him, a frown marring her face when she saw him standing atop one of her rose bushes. She supposed the scratches from the thorns he would have gotten are karma enough.

Swiftly, Anne sent her two Ladies that had accompanied her – Nan and Madge – away and continued to stare down the Duke. He stared back with unreadable blue eyes as he took another slow swing of his flask.

It was him who broke their unspoken vow of silence, "which one of your lovers was it, then? I heard there were more than a hundred."

"Should I be ashamed of lies you fabricated to kill me?" Anne inquired, her observant stare turning into a glower, "lies that would have made my daughter motherless, alone in the world with a father who – likely – would not see her or even acknowledge her? Alone in a Court that would used and abused her given the option? You would have murdered the child that I'm carrying too. Are you regretful that you didn't manage to kill me, Suffolk?"

He took several long strides forward, and Anne scowled as he trampled on more and more of her red roses, his tights being torn and skin ripped into by the knife-like thorns. Finally, he stood in front of her, her head tilted up so that she could see his face rather than gaze at his expansive chest.

"I didn't want you dead," he told her, eyes locking hers with a slight slur, "you weren't supposed to lose your head – just your title and position. You had too much influence. And I didn't like you."

"Would you have protested, told Henry they were lies, as he signed my death warrant and married his new bitch? Would you have lifted a finger to stop myself and my child from dying, my daughter from being motherless?" She interrogated, and Suffolk said nothing. What his answer would be, _no_ , echoed loudly between them.

He hung his head slightly, and looked to her with regretful eyes, "I would have been sorry," was all that he could offer honestly.

"That wouldn't have been enough. I'll see you tomorrow, Your Grace," Anne responded coldly, disappearing from the gardens with a swirl of skirts, leaving Suffolk gazing at her retreating form.

 **TOQ-TOQ-TOQ-TOQ**

 **AN:** _DOUBLE UPDATE DAY! I hope this makes up for my year absence… Anyways, next chappie will have Anne and Charles' wedding and etc. Don't worry, there will be some Anne and Henry interaction so you can see how he is taking to all of this, I've just been trying to put down the Anne/Charles foundation._

 **PLEASE** **READ** : _so I've got two different plot branches to go down that I like **equally**_ _so I'd like you guys to have the final say: should Anne carry this baby to term?_ _If she does, it opens up the whole plot of Anne v Jane and Baby v Edward etc. Alternatively, she could lose the baby which will spurn Henry's need for a son and therefore his impatience with Jane. What do you think?_

 _In my first version of this book, I went_ _ **FAR**_ _too fast with all of the events and the relationship. Please feel free to say if you think I'm going too fast or, if you think I've gone too much the other way, then too slow. I hope you enjoy this chapter and please review :)_

 _NOTE: neither this chapter nor the last have been spell checked, I put them up as soon as I finished writing them, so if you notice anything feel free to tell me but there's no reason to go mad about it._


	4. Chapter 4

**The Once Queen**

 _ **Chapter 4: Duchess of Suffolk**_

 **May 19** **th** **1536**

 **Westminster, London**

As Anne had thought, Henry yielded nothing to Anne's pregnancy news spreading. She would still be marrying his dog; the crown would still never sit upon her dark hair again. Nay, instead of a crown it was golden shackles that adorned her today – one's that nobody else could see but her. Ruthlessly, these invisible contraptions dragged her down the aisle towards an uncertain future.

Despite not being Queen, Anne had been determined to dress like one. Having had a month to devise it, her dress was magnificent. An ivory dress with a three-layered skirt that had lace rose patterns over the top, the bodice's v-neck had gold outlines and bled into long, Tudor sleeves that were also accented by gold. Though it was customary of a bride to wear her hair down, and Anne favoured it that way, she instead chose to have her hair up to draw attention to her long, slim neck. All of her dark hair was elegantly plaited into a cornet style.

 _Let them all remember who the anointed Queen is_ , Anne had thought as Frances had twisted and pulled her hair into the elegant up-do.

Her father, unsurprisingly, was not present. He told her he refused to give his daughters to any man that was not a King, and that was why he had disowned Mary. Anne had swiftly reminded him of Mary's first husband, William Carey, who was of but meagre standing and yet her father had given Mary to him – even if he had given her to a French King first.

He had swiftly stormed out, but Anne cared not. In fact, she would prefer it if there was nobody here at all; no wedding; no Suffolk and certainly no Henry who stood, watching as she began her hesitant descent down the aisle, as a Grimm Reaper would observe the dying before he collected them.

Anne pushed back the tears as she passed Henry and his whore, blinking thoroughly and forcing herself to focus on Charles instead. All she could see was his back, a crimson doublet that was finely made and, thankfully, would not clash with the colours of her dress.

Does he bark like a dog in bed? He was Henry's mutt after all. At the fleeting thought, Anne let out a small giggle which earnt her an alarmed look from the nearby nobles, including her uncle and Henry. Even Charles tensed at the sound.

Anne would soon find out.

The journey to Charles was long, and felt far more like approaching judgement day than her future husband. He would never be loyal to her. There would be mistresses, perhaps more than even Henry had as at least Henry had been loyal and in love with her in the beginning, Charles was never in love with her and therefore had no inclination towards commitment. In fact, he would probably parade them around in front of her just to show that he could do it. That she didn't own him.

Finally, she reached Charles. They kneeled together in front of Archbishop Cranmer, who looked at her with no small amount of pity. She offered him a watery smile back, defeat seeping into her black eyes. There was nothing that could be done to stop this.

At least Elizabeth would be okay.

 **TOQ-TOQ-TOQ-TOQ**

 _Whitehall Palace, England_

Unsurprisingly, another banquet was lined up for this evening. Henry VIII was always a man to take advantage of the opportunity to celebrate and spend any remaining funds that the frugal King Henry VII had so carefully saved. If there were any left, that was, from all the marvellous dances and feasts and hunts and wars that had happened throughout this Henry's reign.

Also, just as predictably, Henry made sure to spend the entire night fawning over Jane. Occasionally Anne thought she saw him glance towards her, and then her abdomen, but she would not put her money on it. And she certainly wouldn't say that he cared.

 _He's probably wondering when I'm going to lose it,_ she thought bitterly and found tears pricking at her eyes again as she lay a hand where the child would be growing. _Hang on in there, sweetheart, I don't think I can handle losing another of you._

Charles, who had been consuming alcohol at a swifter rate than even Anne had been for the entirety of the night, chose that moment to turn around and look at her. His eyes were searching, as if she was some kind of puzzle that he was trying to figure out, but had lost the essential pieces to, and widened slightly at her cheeks.

It wasn't until then that she realised she had started crying. Blue eyes still fixated on her's, he tentatively lifted a hand up, and used the pad of his thumb to gently wipe them away. His mouth began to open, and she could read from his eyes what he was going to say before he even voiced it.

"Don't," she demanded, pulling away from his face and wiping at her own tears, "say sorry. Sorry wouldn't have returned my head to it's stump when you had it lopped off."

Suffolk's eyes hardened immediately, and he roughly withdrew his hand away from her, "we are married now. There's nothing we can do – are you going to continue mentioning your 'beheading' in every conversation we have?"

"Are you going to continue being Henry's little bitch in every action you do?"

"You cannot speak to me like that," Suffolk ground out through gritted teeth.

"Or what?" Anne sneered back, whirling around in her seat to face him, uncaring of the numerous faces that were now watching them with eager interest, "you'll go whining back to your master? _Oh please, master, I've been a good dog throw me another bone?_ Maybe your next marriage will be to his pale slut."

The once Queen reached for her goblet of wine, but as fast as a whip Charles' hand had darted out and batted it out of her grip. Now, it was not numerous faces but the entire hall watching them as the golden goblet smashed against the table and then the floor, letting red wine spray all over the hall. The sight of it tarnishing Henry's new Queen's off-white dress made Anne smirk.

"We're leaving," he told her, grabbing her wrist and pulling her to her feet. Anne snatched her arm away, and he let her, before she began to make long strides towards the door that were matched by Charles. The Duchess of Pembroke and Suffolk allowed him to take the lead, as she was unsure of exactly where his chambers lay, and when they finally arrived there Suffolk did not bother to hold the door open for her. She opened it herself, moments after he had already entered, and heard it slam behind her.

He was already poised by his desk, fists flat on the table with his back to her.

"I'm nobody's bitch."

Anne snorted in disagreement, before turning to evaluate the room. It was large, larger than her new one's were due to his favour with the King and her… lack of. The wood was finely made and the bed was of considerable size, and looked soft with rather lovely canopy drapes. The colour theme of the room was red.

Red suited Suffolk, she found, just as purples and blacks had suited Henry.

"I plotted against you mostly because of my own guilt," he told her, "I had betrayed the King to help your father and your uncle smuggle you into the King's bed and heart. To get rid of good Katherine and sweet Mary."

"Mostly. Part of it was because you knew how great the reward would be if you were to rid the King of his 'evil' wife and deliver him to his darling angel," she moved closer towards Charles as she spoke, a slow smirk forming on her face, "more money, more titles, more favour, more… dog treats."

He whirled around furiously, and Anne held back a laugh. Oh, how Suffolk hated her dog jokes. Feeling bolded by the effect she was having on him, she took a further step forward and lifted herself onto the tips of her toes before muttering amusedly, "… woof."

Before Anne could mutter another word, Charles had turned them around so that he back was pressing against the desk and his arms were either side of her – his attack upon her mouth was relentless, but her defence was just as strong. Their tongues battled for dominance as hands clawed and ripped at clothing. Anne had torn the back of his shirt off and he had ripped her bodice open soon enough; then his mouth met her neck.

Swiftly, but not fast enough for their desperate longing, they fell onto the bed together and spent the rest of the night enjoying each other. Again and again. And again.

 **TOQ-TOQ-TOQ-TOQ**

 **May 20** **th** **1536**

 _ **Whitehall Palace, London**_

Henry Tudor felt cold. Dawn had begun to break, everyone had retired from the feast hours ago – him and Jane amongst the first to go after the unhappy couple. Gossip had been ripe after the Duke had thrown his new Duchess' goblet of wine off the table and then stormed out. Henry himself had rather enjoyed the spectacle. Though he would never admit it out loud, part of the reason for choosing Charles to be with Anne was because he knew she would be unhappy with him, a man who hated her; he never wanted Anne to be happy with anyone if it wasn't him.

And it wouldn't be him, because she hadn't given him what he'd wanted: a son. Or, at least, hadn't so far.

Henry had locked himself in his chambers for hours after he had been informed of Anne's pregnancy, at first he had been convinced that it was some other man's but he was not stupid. A hundred men, Cromwell had said, but how could a _Queen_ sneak one hundred men into her bedchambers? It was preposterous.

Not only that, but the dates added up. The Court Physician had told him that she was about three and a half months along, and the last time he and Anne had been together was early-mid February, February 11th if he recalled correctly.

He had already convinced himself that she would not have his son. She couldn't. If Anne had a boy now then he would be the laughing stock of all of Europe, and be forced to either suffer his son be a bastard or declare his marriage to Jane invalid. Henry could never do the latter; not to sweet. dear, perfect Jane. She was everything Henry wanted; everything Anne was not.

She had lost their other children, their two boys, so it was unlikely that she would even carry to term, and if she did then it would more than likely be a daughter. If she had his son… He would decide what to do then. If the boy even looked like him… Maybe, just maybe Cromwell had truly been right.

From beside him, Jane had begun to stir. It was not long until one light blue eye was opened, and she offered him a soft and meek smile. His heart fluttered at the idea of her.

He brushed a strand of her pale hair away from her face before inquiring of her softly, "how did you sleep, my love?"

"Well, Your Majesty," she told him, though soon her brow furrowed with confusion, "though I don't understand why we merely slept last night. Have I done something to displease you?"

"No," Henry told her assuredly, smiling down at her, "of course not. You could never displease me, Jane."

In truth, he knew he could not do his martial duty with Jane last night because he would think of Anne too much. How she was giving up what was supposed to have been forever his to some other man that very night – that his best friend would know his wife… no, ex-wife on a more intimate level than Henry had ever wanted. He was afraid that he would earn the urge to storm to them and rip them apart.

Even without enjoying some relief with Jane last night, he had still struggled with the urge right up until he lost himself to the realm of sleep. He had let her go, and he needed to remember that. Maybe, one day, he wouldn't have to remember that and he could offer her once more the title that she had rejected so many years ago; not until the Kingdom was stable though.

Not until he and Jane had a Prince of Wales to secure all of England.

"I am more than willing to 'not sleep' now, if you wish, my Queen," he told her devotedly, and Jane giggled lightly.

Her cold hands reached for his cheeks, and he refrained the urge to move away from them, as she spoke in a lower tone than usual, "if that would please Your Majesty."

 _A son would please me,_ Henry thought as he allowed himself to be lost within Jane, _it would please me very much so._

Henry refused to consider what he would do if Jane didn't give him the son he so desired.

 **TOQ-TOQ-TOQ-TOQ**

"You said this new Queen has Catholic sympathies, did you not, Chapuys?" The Lady Mary inquired of the Spanish Ambassador, not even turning towards him. Instead, her eyes remained fixated upon the gardens of Hatfield House. Sometimes, she could pretend that they were the gardens of Whitehall, and that she was but a girl of six looking out of the windows so she could find a new hiding place for when her mother played with her again.

Queen Katherine was dead now, and Mary was left alone. Her father had sent for her toddler half-sister to come to Court for his and Jane's wedding but not Mary. Never Mary.

Personally, Mary would have rather enjoyed to see the harlot's face as her father remarried, and as she was forced down the aisle to marry the Duke of Suffolk. Forget Court, practically the entirety of England knew of how the Duke and Anne Boleyn loathed each other.

"Yes, I did, Your Highness," he swiftly replied, "Queen Jane served your mother as a Maid of Honour, and despite her family signing the Oath they have remained Catholics at heart. The eldest Seymour brother, Edward, may have other inclinations but for the most part they are aligned to the true faith.

Mary thought to snap back that she would trust no woman or man who would sign away their faith, but she chose not to. There was no need to act undignified, lest she make Chapuys think of her as a foolish child. Instead, she questioned, "if she supports me then why has she not sent for me?"

At this, Chapuys began to look a little more uncomfortable, and Mary immediately noticed something was amiss and demanded an answer from him, which he soon delivered, "both your mother and her usurper had influence over the King – they could sway his decisions and keep a degree of control over him. The new Queen is not as strong nor as educated as her predecessors. She told me to inform you of her loyalty but, forgive more Your Highness, I don't believe that she will be able to help you much. She has too little influence and is in too much of a precarious situation."

"What makes her situation so precarious?" Mary inquired. Surely her father would not be so impatient for a son only after weeks of marriage? Even if the woman was pregnant then she certainly wouldn't be showing by now.

"The King's concubine is pregnant, Your Highness," he told her, looking regretful to be the bearer of the news.

"Is it my father's?" Was her automatic reply.

"No one knows, Your Highness."

Clearly, Mary acknowledged, there were cards left to be dealt. And if her father was presented with his very own Jack of Spades via his once Queen then Mary may have no moves left. For now, she would observe; if it came to it, she would flee.

Spain would help her.

 **A/N:** _admission_ _: I've had a long week of tests so I was kinda (okay, very) half-asleep when I wrote this, but I really wanted to get something out for you guys this weekend. Now, I am definitely going to bed (it's only 23:50 as I'm writing this here in England but… I'm tired okay? XD)._

 _I've been finding myself looking around on fic recs lists a lot lately (mainly to fuel my Stony obsession) so I thought I'd leave you guys a few if you're interested:_

 _ **Chained by Love and War**_ _by Athenais Penelope Clemence_

 _ **A Patient Pawn**_ _by Nemo Crawley (a White Queen book)_

 _ **black heart**_ _by Befham (my favourite Charles/Anne, if I remember correctly; I also really like another called_ _ **House of Cards**_ _)_

 _ **God's Will**_ _by RedShineyPenny_

 _Those are only a few off of the top of my head (and my favourites list) but I'll find some more for you all if you still want recs._

 _As I said, I was really tired but wanted to get something out for you all. Did you like it?_

 _I'll try to update again by next weekend at the least :)_


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